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THE  STORY  OF  THE  RED  CROSS 

AS  TOLD  TO 

THE  LITTLE  COLONEL 


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THE   PAGE   COMPANY 
53  Beacon  Street  Boston,  Mass. 


STACK 

ANNEX 

5125909 


DO   YOU   SUPPOSE   THAT   I   COULD   TRAIN    MY   DOGS   TO   DO 

THAT?  '  "    (See  page  3.9) 


kV/^AVJ^AVJtt&JM^JAV/^^^ 


THE       STORY      OF 

THE  RED  CROSS 

4S   TOLD   TO 

THE  LITTLE   COLONEL 

By  Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

AUTHOR    OF   "THE    LITTLE   COLONEL    SERIES," 
"AsA   HOLMES,"    "THE    JEWEL    SERIES,"    ETC. 

Illustrated    by    John    Goss 


THE     PAGE     COMPANY 


BOSTON 


MDCCCCXVIII 


/iv/ft  r»\/4\/i\/»s  fix- 


Copyright,  1902, 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1918, 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  October,  1918 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  CO.,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


'g  Notg 


This  story  in  its  original  form  appeared  in 

The  Little  Colonel's  Hero, 

the  fourth  volume  in  the  famous 

Little  Colonel  Series. 


The  publishers  would  have  appropriately  used  on  the 
cover  of  this  book  the  Red  Cross  on  a  white  field, 
adopted  as  its  emblem  by  the  Red  Cross  Society,  but 
any  use  of  that  emblem  for  purposes  other  than  those 
of  this  society  has  been  prohibited  by  law. 

The  Red  Cross  Society  adopted  its  emblem  in  honor  of 
Switzerland,  where  the  society  originated,  but  re- 
versed the  colors  of  the  Swiss  flag,  which  are  a  White 
Cross  on  a  red  field.  It  is  consequently,  under  the 
circumstances,  appropriate  that  the  cover  design 
should  show  the  White  Cross  of  Switzerland,  where 
the  Red  Cross  Society  originated,  and  where  its  story 
was  told  to  The  Little  Colonel. 


The 
LITTLE 
COLONEL 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I  Lloyd  Meets  Hero  1 

II  Hero's  Story  24 

III  The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva  44 

IV  Homeward  Bound  69 
V  In  After  Years  82 


fftV 


The 

fc      MAJOR  / 

j 


LIST 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

'  Do  you  suppose  that  I  could  train  my 

dogs  to  do  that?  '  "  (See  page  39) 

Frontispiece 
He  stepped  aside  to  let  the  great  creature 

past  him  ' ' 

But  it  did  not  stop  their  mad  flight  >! 
He   plunged    out   alone   into   the    deep 

snow  ' 
The  two  were  wandering  along  beside  the 

water  together  ' :  62 

He  fastened  the  medal  to  Hero's  collar  "    67 


8 
16 

30 


The  Storjr  of  the  Red  Cross 

as  Told  to 

The  Little  Colonel 
CHAPTER  I      ; 

LLOYD  MEETS  HERO 

TT  was  in  Switzerland  in  the  old 
town  of  Geneva.  The  windows 
of  the  big  hotel  dining-room  looked 
out  on  the  lake,  and  the  Little  Colo- 
nel, sitting  at  breakfast  the  morning 
after  their  arrival,  could  scarcely  eat 
for  watching  the  scene  outside. 

Gay  little  pleasure  boats  flashed 
back  and  forth  on  the  sparkling 
water.  The  quay  and  bridge  were 
thronged  with  people.  From  open 
windows  down  the  street  came  the 


2          The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

tinkle  of  pianos,  and  out  on  the  pier, 
where  a  party  of  tourists  were  crowd- 
ing on  to  one  of  the  excursion  steam- 
ers, a  band  was  playing  its  merriest 
holiday  music. 

Far  away  in  the  distance  she  could 
see  the  shining  snow  crown  of  Mont 
Blanc,  and  it  gave  her  an  odd  feeling, 
as  if  she  were  living  in  a  geography 
lesson,  to  know  that  she  was  bounded 
on  one  side  by  the  famous  Alpine 
mountain,  and  on  the  other  by  the 
River  Rhone,  whose  source  she  had 
often  traced  on  the  map.  The  sun- 
shine, the  music,  and  the  gay  crowds 
made  it  seem  to  Lloyd  as  if  the  whole 
world  were  out  for  a  holiday,  and  she 
ate  her  melon  and  listened  to  the 
plans  for  the  day  with  the  sensation 
that  something  very  delightful  was 
about  to  happen. 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero 


'  We'll  go  shopping  this  morning," 
said  Mrs.  Sherman.  "  I  want  Lloyd 
to  see  some  of  those  wonderful  music 
boxes  they  make  here;  the  dancing 
bears,  and  the  musical  hand-mirrors; 
the  chairs  that  play  when  you  sit 
down  in  them,  and  the  beer-mugs 
that  begin  a  tune  when  you  lift  them 
up." 

Lloyd's  face  dimpled  with  pleas- 
ure, and  she  began  to  ask  eager 
questions.  "  Could  we  take  one  to 
Mom  Beck,  mothah?  A  lookin'- 
glass  that  would  play  '  Kingdom 
CominV  when  she  picked  it  up?  It 
would  surprise  her  so  she  would 
think  it  was  bewitched,  and  she'd 
shriek  the  way  she  does  when  a  cat- 
tapillah  gets  on  her." 

Lloyd  laughed  so  heartily  at  the 
recollection,  that  an  old  gentleman 


4         The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

sitting  at  an  opposite  table  smiled 
in  sympathy.  He  had  been  watching 
the  child  ever  since  she  came  into  the 
dining-room,  interested  in  every  look 
and  gesture.  He  was  a  dignified  old 
soldier,  tall  and  broad-shouldered, 
with  gray  hair  and  a  fierce-looking 
gray  moustache  drooping  heavily 
over  his  mouth.  But  the  eyes  under 
his  shaggy  brows  were  so  kind  and 
gentle  that  the  shyest  child  or  the 
sorriest  waif  of  a  stray  dog  would 
claim  him  for  a  friend  at  first  glance. 
The  Little  Colonel  was  so  busy 
watching  the  scene  from  the  window 
that  she  did  not  see  him  until  he  had 
finished  his  breakfast  and  rose  from 
the  table.  As  he  came  toward  them 
on  his  way  to  the  door,  she  whispered, 
"Look,  mothah!  He  has  only  one 
arm,  like  grandf  athah.  I  wondah  if 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero 


he  was  a  soldiah,  too.  Why  is  he 
bowing  to  Papa  Jack?" 

"  I  met  him  last  night  in  the 
office/'  explained  her  father,  when 
the  old  gentleman  had  passed  out  of 
hearing.  "  We  got  into  conversation 
over  the  dog  he  had  with  him  —  a 
magnificent  St.  Bernard,  that  had 
been  trained  as  a  war  dog,  to  go  out 
with  the  ambulances  to  hunt  for 
dead  and  wounded  soldiers.  Major 
Pierre  de  Vaux  is  the  old  man's 
name.  The  clerk  told  me  that  when 
the  Major  lost  his  arm,  he  was  dec- 
orated for  some  act  of  bravery.  He 
is  well  known  here  in  Geneva,  where 
he  comes  every  summer  for  a  few 
weeks." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  I'll  see  the  war  dog!" 
cried  the  Little  Colonel.  "  ^What  do 
you  suppose  his  name  is?" 


6          The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

The  waiter,  who  was  changing 
their  plates,  could  not  resist  this 
temptation  to  show  off  the  little  Eng- 
lish he  knew.  "  Hes  name  is  Hero, 
mademoiselle,"  he  answered.  "  He 
vair  smart  dog.  He  know  evair  sing 
somebody  say  to  him,  same  as  a 
person." 

"  You'll  probably  see  him  as  we  go 
out  to  the  carriage,"  said  Mr.  Sher- 
man. "He  follows  the  Major  con- 
stantly." 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Mrs. 
Sherman  went  up  to  her  room  for  her 
hat.  Lloyd,  who  had  worn  hers  down 
to  breakfast,  wandered  out  into  the 
hall  to  wait  for  her.  There  was  a 
tall,  carved  chair  standing  near  the 
elevator,  and  Lloyd  climbed  into  it. 
To  her  great  confusion,  something 
inside  of  it  gave  a  loud  click  as  she 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero 


seated  herself,  and  began  to  play. 
It  played  so  loudly  that  Lloyd  was 
both  startled  and  embarrassed.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  every  one  in  the 
hotel  must  hear  the  noise,  and  know 
that  she  had  started  it. 

"Silly  old  thing!"  she  muttered, 
as  with  a  very  red  face  she  slipped 
down  and  walked  hurriedly  away. 
She  intended  to  go  into  the  reading- 
room,  but  in  her  confusion  turned  to 
the  left  instead  of  the  right,  and  ran 
against  some  one  coming  out  of  the 
hotel  office.  It  was  the  Major. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pahdon!"  she 
cried,  blushing  still  more.  From  the 
twinkle  in  his  eye  she  was  sure  that 
he  had  witnessed  her  mortifying 
encounter  with  the  musical  chair. 
But  his  first  words  made  her  forget 
her  embarrassment.  He  spoke  in 


8          The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

the  best  of  English,  but  with  a  slight 
accent  that  Lloyd  thought  very  odd 
and  charming. 

"Ah,  it  is  Mr.  Sherman's  little 
daughter.  He  told  me  last  night 
that  you  had  come  to  Switzerland 
because  it  was  a  land  of  heroes,  and 
he  was  sure  that  you  would  be  es- 
pecially interested  in  mine.  So 
come,  Hero,  my  brave  fellow,  and  be 
presented  to  the  little  American  lady. 
Give  her  your  paw,  sir!" 

He  stepped  aside  to  let  the  great 
creature  past  him,  and  Lloyd  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  delight,  he  was 
so  unusually  large  and  beautiful. 
His  curly  coat  of  tawny  yellow  was 
as  soft  as  silk,  and  a  great  ruff  of 
white  circled  his  neck  like  a  collar. 
His  breast  was  white,  too,  and  his 
paws,  and  his  eyes  had  a  wistful, 


HE  STEPPED  ASIDE  TO  LET  THE  GREAT  CREATURE  PAST  HIM 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero 


human  look  that  went  straight  to 
Lloyd's  heart.  She  shook  the  offered 
paw,  and  then  impulsively  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  exclaiming, 
"  Oh,  you  deah  old  fellow!  I  can't 
help  lovin'  you.  You're  the  beauti- 
fulest  dog  I  evah  saw!" 

He  understood  the  caress,  if  not 
the  words,  for  he  reached  up  to 
touch  her  cheek  with  his  tongue,  and 
wagged  his  tail  as  if  he  were  welcom- 
ing a  long-lost  friend.  Just  then 
Mrs.  Sherman  stepped  out  of  the 
elevator.  "  Good-bye,  Hero,"  said 
the  Little  Colonel.  "  I  must  go  now, 
but  I  hope  I'll  see  you  when  I  come 
back."  Nodding  good-bye  to  the 
Major,  she  followed  her  mother  out 
to  the  street,  where  her  father  stood 
waiting  beside  an  open  carriage. 

Lloyd  enjoyed  the  drive  that  morn- 


10        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

ing  as  they  spun  along  beside  the 
river,  up  and  down  the  strange 
streets  with  the  queer  foreign  signs 
over  the  shop  doors.  Once,  as  they 
drove  along  the  quay,  they  met  the 
Major  and  the  dog,  and  in  response 
to  a  courtly  bow,  the  Little  Colonel 
waved  her  hand  and  smiled.  The 
empty  sleeve  recalled  her  grand- 
father, and  gave  her  a  friendly  feel- 
ing for  the  old  soldier.  She  looked 
back  at  Hero  as  long  as  she  could 
see  a  glimpse  of  his  white  and  yellow 
curls. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  they 
stopped  at  a  place  where  Mrs.  Sher- 
man wanted  to  leave  an  enamelled 
belt-buckle  to  be  repaired.  Lloyd 
was  not  interested  in  the  show-cases, 
and  could  not  understand  the  con- 
versation her  father  and  mother 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  11 

were  having  with  the  shopkeeper 
about  enamelling.  So,  saying  that 
she  would  go  out  and  sit  in  the  car- 
riage until  they  were  ready  to  come, 
she  slipped  away. 

She  liked  to  watch  the  stir  of  the 
streets.  It  was  interesting  to  guess 
what  the  foreign  signs  meant,  and  to 
listen  to  the  strange  speech  around 
her.  Besides,  there  was  a  band  play- 
ing somewhere  down  the  street,  and 
children  were  tugging  at  their 
nurses'  hands  to  hurry  them  along. 
Some  carried  dolls  dressed  in  the 
quaint  costumes  of  Swiss  peasants, 
and  some  had  balloons.  A  man  with 
a  bunch  of  them  like  a  cluster  of 
great  red  bubbles  had  just  sold  out 
on  the  corner. 

So  she  sat  in  the  sunshine,  looking 
around  her  with  eager,  interested 


12        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

eyes.  The  coachman,  high  up  on  his 
box,  seemed  as  interested  as  herself; 
at  least,  he  sat  up  very  straight  and 
stiff.  But  it  was  only  his  back  that 
Lloyd  saw.  He  had  been  at  a  fete 
the  night  before.  There  seems  to  be 
always  a  holiday  in  Geneva.  He  had 
stayed  long  at  the  merrymaking  and 
had  taken  many  mugs  of  beer.  They 
made  him  drowsy  and  stupid.  The 
American  gentleman  and  his  wife 
stayed  long  in  the  enameller's  shop. 
He  could  scarcely  keep  his  eyes  open. 
Presently,  although  he  never  moved 
a  muscle  of  his  back  and  sat  up  stiff 
and  straight  as  a  poker,  he  was  sound 
asleep,  and  the  reins  in  his  grasp 
slipped  lower  and  lower  and  lower. 
The  horse  was  an  old  one,  stiffened 
and  jaded  by  much  hard  travel,  but 
it  had  been  a  mettlesome  one  in  its 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  13 

younger  days,  with  the  recollection 
of  many  exciting  adventures.  Now, 
although  it  seemed  half  asleep, 
dreaming,  maybe,  of  the  many  jaunts 
it  had  taken  with  other  American 
tourists,  or  wondering  if  it  were  not 
time  for  it  to  have  its  noonday  nose- 
bag, it  was  really  keeping  one  eye 
open,  nervously  watching  some 
painters  on  the  sidewalk.  They  were 
putting  up  a  scaffold  against  a  build- 
ing, in  order  that  they  might  paint 
the  cornice. 

Presently  the  very  thing  happened 
that  the  old  horse  had  been  expect- 
ing. A  heavy  board  fell  from  the 
scaffold  with  a  crash,  knocking  over 
a  ladder,  which  fell  into  the  street 
in  front  of  the  frightened  animal. 
Now  the  old  horse  had  been  in  sev- 
eral runaways.  Once  it  had  been 


14        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

hurt  by  a  falling  ladder,  and  it  had 
never  recovered  from  its  fear  of  one. 
As  this  one  fell  just  under  its  nose, 
all  the  old  fright  and  pain  that 
caused  its  first  runaway  seemed  to 
come  back  to  its  memory.  In  a 
frenzy  of  terror  it  reared,  plunged 
forward,  then  suddenly  turned  and 
dashed  down  the  street. 

The  plunge  and  sudden  turn  threw 
the  sleeping  coachman  from  the  box 
to  the  street.  With  the  lines  drag- 
ging at  its  heels,  the  frightened 
horse  sped  on.  The  Little  Colonel, 
clutching  frantically  at  the  seat  in 
front  of  her,  screamed  at  the  horse 
to  stop.  She  had  been  used  to  driv- 
ing ever  since  she  was  big  enough 
to  grasp  the  reins,  and  she  felt  that 
if  she  could  only  reach  the  dragging 
lines,  she  could  control  the  horse. 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  15 

But  that  was  impossible.  All  she 
could  do  was  to  cling  to  the  seat  as 
the  carriage  whirled  dizzily  around 
corners,  and  wonder  how  many  more 
frightful  turns  it  would  make  before 
she  should  be  thrown  out. 

The  white  houses  on  either  side 
seemed  racing  past  them.  Nurses 
ran,  screaming,  to  the  pavements, 
dragging  the  baby-carriages  out  of 
the  way.  Dogs  barked  and  teams 
were  jerked  hastily  aside.  Some  one 
dashed  out  of  a  shop  and  threw  his 
arms  up  in  front  of  the  horse  to  stop 
it,  but,  veering  to  one  side,  it  only 
plunged  on  the  faster. 

Lloyd's  hat  blew  off.  Her  face 
turned  white  with  a  sickening  dread, 
and  her  breath  began  to  come  in 
frightened  sobs.  On  and  on  they 
went,  and,  as  the  scenes  of  a  lifetime 


16        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

will  be  crowded  into  a  moment  in  the 
memory  of  a  drowning  man,  so  a 
thousand  things  came  flashing  into 
Lloyd's  mind.  She  saw  the  locust 
avenue  all  white  and  sweet  in  blos- 
som time,  and  thought,  with  a 
strange  thrill  of  self-pity,  that  she 
would  never  ride  under  its  white 
arch  again.  Then  came  her  mother's 
face,  and  Papa  Jack's.  In  a  few 
moments,  she  told  herself,  they 
would  be  picking  up  her  poor,  broken, 
lifeless  little  body  from  the  street. 
How  horribly  they  would  feel.  And 
then  -  -  she  screamed  and  shut  her 
eyes.  The  carriage  had  dashed  into 
something  that  tore  off  a  wheel. 
There  was  a  crash  —  a  sound  as  of 
splintering  wood.  But  it  did  not 
stop  their  mad  flight.  With  a  hor- 
rible bumping  motion  that  nearly 


BUT  IT  DID  NOT  STOP  T1IEIK  MAD  PLIGHT 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  17 

threw  her  from  the  carriage  at  every 
jolt,  they  still  kept  on. 

They  were  on  the  quay  now.  The 
noon  sun  on  the  water  flashed  into 
her  eyes  like  the  blinding  light 
thrown  back  from  a  looking-glass. 
Then  something  white  and  yellow 
darted  from  the  crowd  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  catching  the  horse  by  the 
bit,  swung  on  heavily.  The  horse 
dragged  along  for  a  few  paces,  and 
came  to  a  halt,  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

A  wild  hurrah  went  up  from  both 
sides  of  the  street,  and  the  Little 
Colonel,  as  she  was  lifted  out  white 
and  trembling,  saw  that  it  was  a 
huge  St.  Bernard  that  the  crowd  was 
cheering. 

"  Oh,  it's  H-Hero!"  she  cried,  with 
chattering  teeth.  "  How  did  he  get 
here?"  But  no  one  understood  her 


18        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

question.  The  faces  she  looked  into, 
while  beaming-  with  friendly  interest, 
were  all  foreign.  The  eager  excla- 
mations on  all  sides  were  uttered  in 
a  foreign  tongue.  There  was  no  one 
to  take  her  home,  and  in  her  fright 
she  could  not  remember  the  name  of 
their  hotel.  But  in  the  midst  of  her 
confusion  a  hearty  sentence  in  Eng- 
lish sounded  in  her  ear,  and  a  strong 
arm  caught  her  up  in  a  fatherly  em- 
brace. It  was  the  Major  who  came 
pushing  through  the  crowd  to  reach 
her.  Her  grandfather  himself  could 
not  have  been  more  welcome  just  at 
that  time,  and  her  tears  came  fast 
when  she  found  herself  in  his  friendly 
shelter.  The  shock  had  been  a  ter- 
rible one. 

"  Come,  dear  child!"  he  exclaimed, 
gently,      patting      her      shoulder. 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  19 

"  Courage!  We  are  almost  at  the 
hotel.  See,  it  is  on  the  corner,  there. 
Your  father  and  mother  will  soon  be 
here." 

Wiping  her  eyes,  he  led  her  across 
the  street,  explaining  as  he  went  how 
it  happened  that  he  and  the  dog  were 
on  the  street  when  she  passed.  They 
had  been  in  the  gardens  all  morning 
and  were  going  home  to  lunch,  when 
they  heard  the  clatter  of  the  run- 
away far  down  the  street.  The 
Major  could  not  see  who  was  in  the 
carriage,  only  that  it  appeared  to 
be  a  child.  He  was  too  old  a  man, 
and  with  his  one  arm  too  helpless 
to  attempt  to  stop  it,  but  he  remem- 
bered that  Hero  had  once  shared  the 
training  of  some  collies  for  police 
service,  before  it  had  been  decided 
to  use  him  as  an  ambulance  dog. 


20        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

They  were  taught  to  spring  at  the 
bridles  of  escaping  horses. 

"I  was  doubtful  if  Hero  remem- 
bered those  early  lessons,"  said  the 
Major,  "  but  I  called  out  to  him 
sharply,  for  the  love  of  heaven  to 
stop  it  if  he  could,  and  that  instant 
he  was  at  the  horse's  head,  hanging 
on  with  all  his  might.  Bravo,  old 
fellow!"  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
dog  as  he  spoke.  "  We  are  proud  of 
you  this  day!" 

They  were  in  the  corridor  of  the 
hotel  now,  and  the  Little  Colonel, 
kneeling  beside  Hero  and  putting 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  finished 
her  sobbing  with  her  fair  little  face 
laid  fondly  against  his  silky  coat. 

"Oh,  you  deah,  deah  old  Hero," 
she  said.  "You  saved  me,  and  I'll 
love  you  fo'  evah  and  evah!" 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  21 

The  crowd  was  still  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  and  the  corridor  full  of  excited 
servants  and  guests,  when  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Sherman  hurried  in.  They  had 
taken  the  first  carriage  they  could 
hail  and  driven  as  fast  as  possible  in 
the  wake  of  the  runaway.  Mrs. 
Sherman  was  trembling  so  violently 
that  she  could  scarcely  stand,  when 
they  reached  the  hotel.  The  clerk 
who  ran  out  to  assure  them  of  the 
Little  Colonel's  safety  was  loud  in  his 
praises  of  the  faithful  St.  Bernard. 

Hero  had  known  many  masters. 
He  had  been  taught  to  obey  many 
voices.  Many  hands  had  fed  and 
fondled  him,  but  no  hand  had  ever 
lain  quite  so  tenderly  on  his  head,  as 
the  Little  Colonel's.  No  one  had  ever 
looked  into  his  eyes  so  gratefully  as 
she,  and  no  voice  had  ever  thrilled 


22        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

him  with  as  loving  tones  as  hers,  as 
she  knelt  there  beside  him,  calling 
him  all  the  fond  endearing  names  she 
knew.  He  understood  far  better 
than  if  he  had  been  human,  that  she 
loved  him.  Eagerly  licking  her 
hands  and  wagging  his  tail,  he  told 
her  as  plainly  as  a  dog  can  talk  that 
henceforth  he  would  be  one  of  her 
best  and  most  faithful  of  friends. 

If  petting  and  praise  and  devoted 
attention  could  spoil  a  dog,  Hero's 
head  would  certainly  have  been 
turned  that  day,  for  friends  and 
strangers  alike  made  much  of  him. 
A  photographer  came  to  take  his 
picture  for  the  leading  daily  paper. 
Before  nightfall  his  story  was  re- 
peated in  every  home  in  Geneva.  No 
servant  in  the  hotel  but  took  a  per- 
sonal pride  in  him  or  watched  his 


Lloyd  Meets  Hero  23 

chance  to  give  him  a  sly  sweetmeat 
or  a  caress.  But  being  a  dog  instead 
of  a  human,  the  attention  only  made 
him  the  more  lovable,  for  it  made 
him  feel  that  it  was  a  kind  world  he 
lived  in  and  everybody  was  his 
friend. 


CHAPTER  II 
HERO'S  STORY 

T  ATE  that  afternoon  the  Major 
sat  out  in  the  shady  courtyard 
of  the  hotel,  where  vines,  potted 
plants,  and  a  fountain  made  a  cool 
green  garden  spot.  He  was  thinking 
of  his  little  daughter,  who  had  been 
dead  many  long  years.  The  Ameri- 
can child,  whom  his  dog  had  rescued 
from  the  runaway  in  the  morning, 
was  wonderfully  like  her.  She  had 
the  same  fair  hair,  he  thought,  that 
had  been  his  little  Christine's  great 
beauty;  the  same  delicate,  wild-rose 
pink  in  her  cheeks,  the  same  mis- 
chievous smile  dimpling  her  laugh- 

24 


Hero's  Story  25 

ing  face.  But  Christine's  eyes  had 
not  been  a  starry  hazel  like  the  Little 
Colonel's.  They  were  blue  as  the 
flax-flowers  she  used  to  gather  — 
thirty,  was  it?  No,  forty  years  ago. 

As  he  counted  the  years,  the 
thought  came  to  him  like  a  pain  that 
he  was  an  old,  old  man  now,  all  alone 
in  the  world,  save  for  a  dog,  and  a 
niece  whom  he  scarcely  knew  and 
seldom  saw. 

As  he  sat  there  with  his  head 
bowed  down,  dreaming  over  his  past, 
the  Little  Colonel  came  out  into  the 
courtyard.  She  had  dressed  early 
and  gone  down  to  the  reading-room 
to  wait  until  her  mother  was  ready 
for  dinner,  but  catching  sight  of  the 
Major  through  the  long  glass  doors, 
she  laid  down  her  book.  The  lonely 
expression  of  his  furrowed  face,  the 


26        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

bowed  head,  and  the  empty  sleeve 
appealed  to  her  strongly. 

"  I  believe  I'll  go  out  and  talk  to 
him,"  she  thought.  "  If  grand- 
fathah  were  away  off  in  a  strange 
land  by  himself  like  that,  I'd  want 
somebody  to  cheer  him  up." 

It  is  always  good  to  feel  that  one  is 
welcome,  and  Lloyd  was  glad  that 
she  had  ventured  into  the  courtyard, 
when  she  saw  the  smile  that  lighted 
the  Major's  face  at  sight  of  her,  and 
when  the  dog,  rising  at  her  approach, 
came  forward  joyfully  wagging  his 
tail. 

The  conversation  was  easy  to  begin, 
with  Hero  for  a  subject.  There  were 
many  things  she  wanted  to  know 
about  him:  how  he  happened  to  be- 
long to  the  Major;  what  country  he 
came  from;  why  he  was  called  a  St. 


Hero's  Story  27 

Bernard,  and  if  the  Major  had  ever 
owned  any  other  dogs. 

After  a  few  questions  it  all  came 
about  as  she  had  hoped  it  would. 
The  old  man  settled  himself  back  in 
his  chair,  thought  a  moment,  and 
then  began  at  the  first  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  St.  Bernard  dogs, 
as  if  he  were  reading  a  story  from 
a  book. 

"  Away  up  in  the  Alpine  Moun- 
tains, too  high  for  trees  to  grow, 
where  there  is  only  bare  rock  and 
snow  and  cutting  winds,  climbs  the 
road  that  is  known  as  the  Great  St. 
Bernard  Pass.  It  is  an  old,  old  road. 
The  Celts  crossed  it  when  they  in- 
vaded Italy.  The  Roman  legions 
crossed  it  when  they  marched  out  to 
subdue  Gaul  and  Germany.  Ten 
hundred  years  ago  the  Saracen  rob- 


28        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

bers  hid  among  its  rocks  to  waylay 
unfortunate  travellers.  You  will 
read  about  all  that  in  your  history 
sometime,  and  about  the  famous 
march  Napoleon  made  across  it  on  his 
way  to  Marengo.  But  the  most  in- 
teresting fact  about  the  road  to  me, 
is  that  for  over  seven  hundred  years 
there  has  been  a  monastery  high  up 
on  the  bleak  mountain-top,  called  the 
monastery  of  St.  Bernard. 

"  Once,  when  I  was  travelling 
through  the  Alps,  I  stopped  there 
one  cold  night,  almost  frozen.  The 
good  monks  welcomed  me  to  their 
hospice,  as  they  do  all  strangers  who 
stop  for  food  and  shelter,  and  treated 
me  as  kindly  as  if  I  had  been  a 
brother.  In  the  morning  one  of  them 
took  me  out  to  the  kennels,  and 
showed  me  the  dogs  that  are  trained 


Hero's  Story  29 

to  look  for  travellers  in  the  snow. 
You  may  imagine  with  what  pleasure 
I  followed  him,  and  listened  to  the 
tales  he  told  me. 

"  He  said  there  is  not  as  much 
work  for  the  dogs  now  as  there  used 
to  be  years  ago.  Since  the  hospice 
has  been  connected  with  the  valley 
towns  by  telephone,  travellers  can 
inquire  about  the  state  of  the 
weather  and  the  paths,  before  ven- 
turing up  the  dangerous  mountain 
passes.  Still,  the  storms  begin  with 
little  warning  sometimes,  and  way- 
farers are  overtaken  by  them  and 
lost  in  the  blinding  snowfall.  The 
paths  fill  suddenly,  and  but  for  the 
dogs  many  would  perish." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  interrupted  Lloyd, 
eagerly.  "There  is  a  story  about 
them  in  my  old  third  readah,  and  a 


30        The  Story  of  the  Eed  Cross 

pictuah  of  a  big  St.  Bernard  dog  with 
a  flask  tied  around  his  neck,  and  a 
child  on  his  back." 

"  Yes/'  answered  the  Major,  "  it  is 
quite  probable  that  that  was  a  pic- 
ture of  the  dog  they  call  Barry.  He 
was  with  the  good  monks  for  twelve 
years,  and  in  that  time  saved  the 
lives  of  forty  travellers.  There  is  a 
monument  erected  to  him  in  Paris  in 
the  cemetery  for  dogs.  The  sculptor 
carved  that  picture  into  the  stone, 
the  noble  animal  with  a  child  on  his 
back,  as  if  he  were  in  the  act  of 
carrying  it  to  the  hospice.  Twelve 
years  is  a  long  time  for  a  dog  to 
suffer  such  hardship  and  exposure. 
Night  after  night  he  plunged  out 
alone  into  the  deep  snow  and  the 
darkness,  barking  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  to  attract  the  attention  of  lost 


UK    I'M'N(JKI)    OUT    Al.OXK    INTO    TIIK    1)KK1»   SNO\V 


Hero's  Story  31 

travellers.  Many  a  time  he  dropped 
into  the  drifts  exhausted,  with 
scarcely  enough  strength  left  to  drag 
himself  back  to  the  hospice. 

"  Forty  lives  saved  is  a  good 
record.  You  may  be  sure  that  in  his 
old  age  Barry  was  tenderly  cared  for. 
The  monks  gave  him  a  pension  and 
sent  him  to  Berne,  where  the  climate 
is  much  warmer.  When  he  died,  a 
taxidermist  preserved  his  skin,  and 
he  was  placed  in  the  museum  at 
Berne,  where  he  stands  to  this  day, 
I  am  told,  with  the  little  flask  around 
his  neck.  I  saw  him  there  one  time, 
and  although  Barry  was  only  a  dog, 
I  stood  with  uncovered  head  before 
him.  For  he  was  as  truly  a  hero  and 
served  human  kind  as  nobly  as  if  he 
had  fallen  on  the  field  of  battle. 

"  He  had  been  trained  like  a  sol- 


32        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

dier  to  his  duty,  and  no  matter  how 
the  storms  raged  on  the  mountains, 
how  dark  the  night,  or  how  danger- 
ous the  paths  that  led  along  the 
slippery  precipices,  at  the  word  of 
command  he  sprang  to  obey.  Only 
a  dumb  beast,  some  people  would 
call  him,  guided  only  by  brute  in- 
stinct, but  in  his  shaggy  old  body 
beat  a  loving  heart,  loyal  to  his  mas- 
ter's command,  and  faithful  to  his 
duty. 

"As  I  stood  there  gazing  into 
the  kind  old  face,  I  thought  of  the 
time  when  I  lay  wounded  on  the  field 
of  battle.  How  glad  I  would  have 
been  to  have  seen  some  dog  like 
Barry  come  bounding  to  my  aid!  I 
had  fallen  in  a  thicket,  where  the 
ambulance  corps  did  not  discover  me 
until  next  day.  I  lay  there  all  that 


Hero's  Story  33 

black  night,  wild  with  pain,  groaning 
for  water.  I  could  see  the  lanterns 
of  the  ambulances  as  they  moved 
about  searching  for  the  wounded 
among  the  many  dead,  but  was  too 
faint  from  loss  of  blood  to  raise  my 
head  and  shout  for  help.  They  told 
me  afterward  that,  if  my  wound 
could  have  received  immediate  at- 
tention, perhaps  my  arm  might  have 
been  saved. 

"  But  only  a  keen  sense  of  smell 
could  have  traced  me  in  the  dense 
thicket  where  I  lay.  No  one  had 
thought  of  training  dogs  for  ambu- 
lance service  then.  The  men  did 
their  best,  but  they  were  only  men, 
and  I  was  overlooked  until  it  was  too 
late  to  save  my  arm. 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  I  stood  and  looked 
at  Barry,  wondering  if  it  were  not 


34        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

possible  to  train  dogs  for  rescue  work 
on  battle-fields  as  well  as  in  moun- 
tain passes.  The  more  I  thought  of 
it,  the  more  my  longing  grew  to 
make  such  an  attempt.  I  read  every- 
thing I  could  find  about  trained  dogs, 
visited  kennels  where  collies  and 
other  intelligent  sheep-dogs  were 
kept,  and  corresponded  with  many 
people  about  it.  Finally  I  went  to 
Coblenz,  and  there  found  a  man  who 
was  as  much  interested  in  the  sub- 
ject as  I.  Herr  Bungartz  is  his 
name.  He  is  now  at  the  head  of 
a  society  to  which  I  belong,  called 
the  German  Society  for  Ambulance 
Dogs.  It  has  over  a  thousand  mem- 
bers, including  many  princes  and 
generals. 

"  We  furnish  the  money  that  sup- 
ports the  kennels,  and  the  dogs  are 


Hero's  Story  35 

bred  and  trained  free  for  the  army. 
Now  for  the  last  eight  years  it  has 
been  my  greatest  pleasure  to  visit 
the  kennels,  where  as  many  as  fifty 
dogs  are  kept  constantly  in  training. 
It  was  on  my  last  visit  that  I  got 
Hero.  His  leg  had  been  hurt  in  some 
accident  on  the  training  field.  It  was 
thought  that  he  was  too  much  dis- 
abled to  ever  do  good  service  again, 
so  they  allowed  me  to  take  him. 
Two  old  cripples,  I  suppose  they 
thought  we  were,  comrades  in  mis- 
fortune. 

"  That  was  nearly  a  year  ago.  I 
took  him  to  an  eminent  surgeon, 
told  him  his  history,  and  interested 
him  in  his  case.  He  treated  him  so 
successfully,  that  now,  as  you  see, 
the  leg  is  entirely  well.  Sometimes 
I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  to  give  him 


36        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

back  to  the  service,  although  I  paid 
for  the  rearing  of  a  fine  Scotch  collie 
in  his  stead.  He  is  so  unusually  in- 
telligent and  well  trained.  But  it 
would  be  hard  to  part  with  such  a 
good  friend.  Although  I  have  had 
him  less  than  a  year,  he  seems  very 
much  attached  to  me,  and  I  have 
grown  more  fond  of  him  than  I  would 
have  believed  possible.  I  am  an  old 
man  now,  and  I  think  he  understands 
that  he  is  all  I  have.  Good  Hero! 
He  knows  he  is  a  comfort  to  his  old 
master!" 

At  the  sound  of  his  name,  uttered 
in  a  sad  voice,  the  great  dog  got  up 
and  laid  his  head  on  the  Major's 
knee,  looking  wistfully  into  his  face. 

"  Of  co'se  you  oughtn't  to  give 
him  back!"  cried  the  Little  Colonel. 
"If  he  were  mine,  I  wouldn't  give 


Hero's  Story  37 

him  up  for  the  president,  or  the  em- 
peror, or  the  czar,  or  anybody!" 

"  But  for  the  soldiers,  the  poor 
wounded  soldiers!"  suggested  the 
Major. 

Lloyd  hesitated,  looking  from  the 
dog  to  the  empty  sleeve  above  it. 
"Well,"  she  declared,  at  last,  "I 
wouldn't  give  him  up  while  the  coun- 
try is  at  peace.  I'd  wait  till  the  last 
minute,  until  there  was  goin'  to  be 
an  awful  battle,  and  then  I'd  make 
them  promise  to  let  me  have  him 
again  when  the  wah  was  ovah.  Just 
the  minute  it  was  ovah.  It  would  be 
like  givin'  away  part  of  your  family 
to  give  away  Hero." 

Suddenly  the  Major  spoke  to  the 
dog  —  a  quick,  sharp  sentence  that 
Lloyd  could  not  understand.  But 
Hero,  without  an  instant's  hesitation, 


38         The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

bounded  from  the  courtyard,  where 
they  sat,  into  the  hall  of  the  hotel. 
Through  the  glass  doors  she  could 
see  him  leaping  up  the  stairs,  and, 
almost  before  the  Major  could  ex- 
plain that  he  had  sent  him  for  the 
shoulder-bags  he  wore  in  service, 
the  dog  was  back  with  them  grasped 
firmly  in  his  mouth. 

"  Now  the  flask,"  said  the  Major. 
While  the  dog  obeyed  the  second 
order,  he  opened  the  bags  for  Lloyd 
to  examine  them.  They  were  marked 
with  a  red  cross  in  a  square  of  white, 
and  contained  rolls  of  bandages, 
from  which  any  man,  able  to  use  his 
arms,  could  help  himself  until  his 
rescuer  brought  further  aid. 

The  flask  which  Hero  brought  was 
marked  in  the  same  way,  and  the 
Major  buckled  it  to  his  collar,  saying, 


Hero's  Story 39 

as  he  fastened  first  that  and  then  the 
shoulder-bags  in  place,  "When  a 
dog  is  in  training,  soldiers,  pretend- 
ing to  be  dead  or  wounded,  are  hid- 
den in  the  woods  or  ravines  and  he  is 
taught  to  find  a  fallen  body,  and  to 
bark  loudly.  If  the  soldier  is  in  some 
place  too  remote  for  his  voice  to 
bring  aid,  the  dog  seizes  a  cap,  a 
handkerchief,  or  a  belt, —  any  article 
of  the  man's  clothing  which  he  can 
pick  up,  —  and  dashes  back  to  the 
nearest  ambulance." 

"  What  a  lovely  game  that  would 
make!"  exclaimed  Lloyd.  "Do  you 
suppose  that  I  could  train  my  dogs  to 
do  that?  We  often  play  soldiah  at 
Locust.  Now,  what  is  it  you  say  to 
Hero  when  you  want  him  to  hunt  the 
men?  Let  me  see  if  he'll  mind  me." 

The  Major  repeated  the  command. 


40        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

"  But  I  can't  speak  French,"  she 
said,  in  dismay.  "What  is  it  in 
English?" 

"  Hero  can't  understand  Eng- 
lish," said  the  Major,  laughing  at 
the  perplexed  expression  that  crept 
into  the  Little  Colonel's  face. 

"  How  funny!"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
nevah  thought  of  that  befo'.  I  sup- 
posed of  co'se  that  all  animals  were 
English.  Anyway,  Hero  comes  when 
I  call  him,  and  wags  his  tail  when  I 
speak,  just  as  if  he  undahstands 
every  word." 

"  It  is  the  kindness  in  your  voice 
he  understands,  and  the  smile  in  your 
eyes,  the  affection  in  your  caress. 
That  language  is  the  same  the  world 
over,  to  men  and  animals  alike.  But 
he  never  would  start  out  to  hunt  the 
wounded  soldiers  unless  you  gave 


Hero's  Story  41 

this  command.  Let  me  hear  if  you 
can  say  it  after  me/' 

Lloyd  tripped  over  some  of  the 
syllables  as  she  repeated  the  sen- 
tence, but  tried  it  again  and  again 
until  the  Major  cried  "  Bravo!  You 
shall  have  more  lessons,  until  you 
can  give  the  command  so  well  that 
Hero  shall  obey  you  as  he  does  me." 

Then  he  began  talking  of  Chris- 
tine, her  fair  hair,  her  blue  eyes,  her 
playful  ways;  and  Lloyd,  listening, 
drew  him  on  with  many  questions. 

Suddenly  the  Major  arose,  bowing 
courteously,  for  Mrs.  Sherman,  see- 
ing them  from  the  doorway,  had 
smiled  and  started  toward  them. 
Springing  up,  Lloyd  ran  to  meet  her. 

"  Mothah,"  she  whispered,  "  please 
ask  the  Majah  to  sit  at  ou'  table  to- 
night at  dinnah.  He's  such  a  deah 


42        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

old  man,  and  tells  such  interestin' 
things,  and  he's  lonesome.  The  tears 
came  into  his  eyes  when  he  talked 
about  his  little  daughtah.  She  was 
just  my  age  when  she  died,  mothah, 
and  he  thinks  she  looked  like  me." 

The  Major's  courtly  manner  and 
kind  face  had  already  aroused  Mrs. 
Sherman's  interest.  His  empty 
sleeve  reminded  her  of  her  father. 
His  loneliness  appealed  to  her  sym- 
pathy, and  his  kindness  to  her  little 
daughter  had  won  her  deepest  appre- 
ciation. She  turned  with  a  cordial 
smile  to  repeat  Lloyd's  invitation, 
which  was  gladly  accepted. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  warm 
friendship.  From  that  time  he  was 
included  in  their  plans.  Now,  in 
nearly  all  their  excursions  and 
drives,  there  were  four  in  the  party 


Hero's  Story  43 

instead  of  three,  and  five,  very  often. 
Whenever  it  was  possible,  Hero  was 
with  them.  He  and  the  Little  Colonel 
often  went  out  together  alone.  It 
grew  to  be  a  familiar  sight  in  the 
town,  the  graceful  fair-haired  child 
and  the  big  tawny  St.  Bernard,  walk- 
ing side  by  side  along  the  quay.  She 
was  not  afraid  to  venture  anywhere 
with  such  a  guard.  As  for  Hero,  he 
followed  her  as  gladly  as  he  did  his 
master. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   RED   CROSS  OF   GENEVA 

A  WEEK  after  the  runaway,  the 
*"  handsomest  collar  that  could  be 
bought  in  town  was  fastened  around 
Hero's  neck.  It  had  taken  a  long 
time  to  get  it,  for  Mr.  Sherman  went 
to  many  shops  before  he  found  ma- 
terial that  he  considered  good  enough 
for  the  rescuer  of  his  little  daughter. 
Then  the  jeweller  had  to  keep  it 
several  days  while  he  engraved  an 
inscription  on  the  gold  name-plate  — 
an  inscription  that  all  who  read 
might  know  what  happened  on  a 
certain  July  day  in  the  old  Swiss 

44 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          45 

town  of  Geneva.  On  the  under  side 
of  the  collar  was  a  stout  link  like  the 
one  on  his  old  one,  to  which  the  flask 
could  be  fastened  when  he  was  har- 
nessed for  service,  and  on  the  upper 
side,  finely  wrought  in  enamel,  was 
a  red  cross  on  a  white  square. 

"Papa  Jack!"  exclaimed  Lloyd, 
examining  it  with  interest,  "  that  is 
the  same  design  that  is  on  his  blanket 
and  shouldah-bags.  Why,  it's  just 
like  the  Swiss  flag!"  she  cried,  look- 
ing out  at  the  banner  floating  from 
the  pier.  "  Only  the  colors  are 
turned  around.  The  flag  has  a  white 
cross  on  a  red  ground,  and  this  is  a 
red  cross  on  a  white  ground.  Why 
did  you  have  it  put  on  the  collah, 
Papa  Jack?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  Red  Cross  dog," 
answered  her  father. 


46        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

"  No,  Papa  Jack.  Excuse  me  for 
contradicting  but  the  Majah  said  he 
was  a  St.  Bernard  dog." 

Mr.  Sherman  laughed,  but  before 
he  could  explain  he  was  called  to  the 
office  to  answer  a  telegram.  When 
he  returned  Lloyd  had  disappeared 
to  find  the  Major,  and  ask  about  the 
symbol  on  the  collar.  She  found  him 
in  his  favorite  seat  near  the  fountain, 
in  the  shady  courtyard.  Perching 
on  a  bench  near  by  with  Hero  for  a 
foot-stool,  she  asked,  "  Majah,  is 
Hero  a  St.  Bernard  or  a  Red  Cross 
dog?" 

"  He  is  both,"  answered  the  Major, 
smiling  at  her  puzzled  expression. 
"  He  is  the  first  because  he  belongs 
to  that  family  of  dogs,  and  he  is  the 
second  because  he  was  adopted  by  the 
Red  Cross  Association,  and  trained 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          47 

for  its  service.  You  know  what  that 
is,  of  course." 

Still  Lloyd  looked  puzzled.  She 
shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  nevah  heard 
of  it.  Is  it  something  Swiss  or 
French?" 

"  Never  heard  of  it!"  repeated  the 
Major.  He  spoke  in  such  a  surprised 
tone  that  his  voice  sounded  gruff  and 
loud,  and  Lloyd  almost  jumped.  The 
harshness  was  so  unexpected. 

"Think  again,  child,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "  Surely  you  have  been  told, 
at  least,  of  your  brave  country- 
woman who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
organization  in  America,  who  nursed 
not  only  the  wounded  of  your  own 
land,  but  followed  the  Red  Cross  of 
mercy  on  many  foreign  battle- 
fields!" 

"  Oh,  a  hospital  nurse!"  said  Lloyd, 


48         The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

wrinkling  her  forehead  and  trying 
to  think.  "  Miss  Alcott  was  one. 
Everybody  knows  about  her,  and  her 
'  Hospital  Sketches  '  are  lovely." 

"No!  no!"  exclaimed  the  Major, 
impatiently.  Lloyd,  feeling  from  his 
tone  that  ignorance  on  this  subject 
was  something  he  could  not  excuse, 
tried  again. 

"  I've  heard  of  Florence  Night- 
ingale. In  one  of  my  books  at  home, 
a  Chatterbox,  I  think,  there  is  a  pic- 
ture of  her  going  through  a  hospital 
ward.  Mothah  told  me  how  good 
she  was  to  the  soldiahs,  and  how  they 
loved  her.  They  even  kissed  her 
shadow  on  the  wall  as  she  passed. 
They  were  so  grateful." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  murmured  the  old  man. 
"  Florence  Nightingale  will  live  long 
in  song  and  story.  An  angel  of 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          49 

mercy  she  was,  through  all  the  hor- 
rors of  the  Crimean  War;  but  she 
was  an  English  woman,  my  dear. 
The  one  I  mean  is  an  American,  and 
her  name  ought  to  go  down  in  his- 
tory with  the  bravest  of  its  patriots 
and  the  most  honored  of  its  bene- 
factors. I  learned  to  know  her  first 
in  that  long  siege  at  Strasburg.  She 
nursed  me  there,  and  I  have  followed 
her  career  with  grateful  interest 
ever  since,  noting  with  admiration 
all  that  she  has  done  for  her  country 
and  humanity  the  world  over. 

"  If  America  ever  writes  a  wo- 
man's name  in  her  temple  of  fame 
(I  say  it  with  uncovered  head),  that 
one  should  be  the  name  of  Clara 
Barton." 

The  old  soldier  lifted  his  hat  as 
he  spoke,  and  replaced  it  so  solemnly 


50        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

that  Lloyd  felt  very  uncomfortable, 
as  if  she  were  in  some  way  to  blame 
for  not  knowing  and  admiring  this 
Red  Cross  nurse  of  whom  she  had 
never  heard.  Her  face  flushed,  and 
much  embarrassed,  she  drew  the  toe 
of  her  slipper  along  Hero's  back, 
answering,  in  an  abused  tone: 

"  But,  Majah,  how  could  I  be  ex- 
pected to  know  anything  about  her? 
There  is  nothing  in  ou'  school-books, 
and  nobody  told  me,  and  Papa  Jack 
won't  let  me  read  the  newspapahs, 
they're  so  full  of  horrible  murdahs 
and  things.  So  how  could  I  evah 
find  out?  I  couldn't  learn  everything 
in  twelve  yeahs,  and  that's  all  the 
longah  I've  lived." 

The  Major  laughed.  "Forgive 
me,  little  one!"  he  cried,  seeing  the 
distress  and  embarrassment  in  her 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          51 

face.  "A  thousand  pardons!  The 
fault  is  not  yours,  but  your  country's, 
that  it  has  not  taught  its  children  to 
honor  its  benefactor  as  she  deserves. 
I  am  glad  that  it  has  been  given  to 
me  to  tell  you  the  story  of  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  that  ever  hap- 
pened in  Switzerland  —  the  found- 
ing of  the  Red  Cross.  You  will  re- 
member it  with  greater  interest,  I  am 
sure,  because,  while  I  talk,  the  cross 
of  the  Swiss  flag  floats  over  us,  and 
it  was  here  in  this  old  town  of  Geneva 
the  merciful  work  had  its  begin- 
ning." 

Lloyd  settled  herself  to  listen,  still 
stroking  Hero's  back  with  her  slipper 
toe. 

"  He  was  my  friend,  Henri  Durant, 
and  in  the  old  days  of  chivalry  they 
would  have  made  him  knight  for  the 


52        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

>"" 

noble  thought  that  sprang  to  flower 
in  his  heart  and  to  fruitage  in  so 
worthy  a  deed.  He  was  travelling  in 
Italy  years  ago,  and  happening  to  be 
near  the  place  where  the  battle  of 
Solferino  was  fought,  he  was  so 
touched  by  the  sufferings  of  the 
wounded  that  he  stopped  to  help  care 
for  them  in  the  hospitals.  The  sights 
he  saw  there  were  horrible.  The 
wounded  men  could  not  be  cared  for 
properly.  They  died  by  the  hun- 
dreds, because  there  were  not  enough 
nurses  and  surgeons  and  food. 

"It  moved  him  to  write  a  book 
which  was  translated  into  several 
languages.  People  of  many  coun- 
tries became  interested  and  were 
aroused  to  a  desire  to  do  something 
to  relieve  the  deadly  consequences 
of  war.  Then  he  called  a  meeting  of 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          53 

all  the  nations  of  Europe.  That  was 
over  thirty  years  ago.  Sixteen  of 
the  great  powers  sent  men  to  repre- 
sent them.  They  met  here  in  Geneva 
and  signed  a  treaty.  One  by  one 
other  countries  followed  their  ex- 
ample, until  now  forty  governments 
are  pledged  to  keep  the  promises  of 
the  Red  Cross. 

"  They  chose  that  as  their  flag  in 
compliment  to  Switzerland,  where 
the  movement  was  started.  You  see 
they  are  the  same  except  that  the 
colors  are  reversed. 

"Now,  according  to  that  treaty, 
wherever  the  Red  Cross  goes,  on  sea 
or  on  land,  it  means  peace  and  safety 
for  the  wounded  soldiers.  In  the 
midst  of  the  bloodiest  battle,  no  mat- 
ter who  is  hurt,  Turk  or  Russian, 
Japanese  or  Spaniard,  Armenian  or 


54        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

Arab,  he  is  bound  to  be  protected  and 
cared  for.  No  nurse,  surgeon,  or 
ambulance  bearing  that  Red  Cross 
can  be  fired  upon.  They  are  allowed 
to  pass  wherever  they  are  needed. 

"  Before  the  nations  joined  in  that 
treaty,  the  worst  horror  of  war  was 
the  fate  of  a  wounded  soldier,  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Better 
a  thousand  times  to  be  killed  in  bat- 
tle, than  to  be  taken  prisoner.  Think 
of  being  left,  bleeding  and  faint,  on 
an  enemy's  field  till  your  clothes 
froze  to  the  ground,  and  no  one 
merciful  enough  to  give  you  a  crust 
of  bread  or  a  drop  of  water.  Think 
of  the  dying  piled  with  the  dead  and 
left  to  the  pitiless  rays  of  a  scorch- 
ing, tropic  sun.  That  can  never  hap- 
pen again,  thank  Heaven! 

"  In  time  of  peace,  money  and  sup- 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          55 

plies  are  gathered  and  stored  by  each 
country,  ready  for  use  at  the  first 
signal  of  war.  The  empress  became 
the  head  of  the  branch  in  Germany. 
Soon  after,  the  Franco-Prussian  war 
began,  and  then  her  only  daughter, 
the  Grand  Duchess  Louise  of  Baden, 
turned  all  her  beautiful  castles  into 
military  hospitals,  and  went  herself 
to  superintend  the  work  of  relief. 

"  Your  country  did  not  join  with  us 
at  first.  You  were  having  your  ter- 
rible Civil  War  at  home;  the  one  in 
which  your  grandfather  fought.  All 
this  time  Clara  Barton  was  with  the 
soldiers  on  their  bloodiest  battle- 
fields. When  you  go  home,  ask  your 
grandfather  about  the  battles  of 
Bull  Run  and  Antietam,  Fredericks- 
burg,  and  the  Wilderness.  She  was 
there.  She  stood  the  strain  of  nurs- 


56        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

ing  in  sixteen  such  awful  places, 
going  from  cot  to  cot  among  the 
thousands  of  wounded,  comforting 
the  dying,  and  dragging  many  a  man 
back  from  the  very  grave  by  her  un- 
tiring, unselfish  devotion. 

"When  the  war  was  over,  she 
spent  four  years  searching  for  the 
soldiers  reported  missing.  Hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  pitiful  letters  came 
to  her,  giving  name,  regiment,  and 
company  of  some  son  or  husband  or 
brother,  who  had  marched  away  to 
the  wars  and  never  returned.  These 
names  could  not  be  found  among  the 
lists  of  the  killed.  They  were  simply 
reported  as  '  missing ';  whether  dead 
or  a  deserter,  no  one  could  tell.  She 
had  spent  weeks  at  Andersonville 
the  summer  after  the  war,  identify- 
ing and  marking  the  graves  there. 


The  Bed  Cross  of  Geneva          57 

She  marked  over  twelve  thousand. 
So  when  these  letters  came  im- 
ploring her  aid,  she  began  the 
search,  visiting  the  old  prisons,  and 
trenches  and  hospitals,  until  she  re- 
moved from  twenty  thousand  names 
the  possible  suspicion  that  the 
men  who  bore  them  had  been  de- 
serters. 

"No  wonder  that  she  came  to 
Europe  completely  broken  down  in 
health,  so  exhausted  by  her  long, 
severe  labors  that  her  physician  told 
her  she  must  rest  several  years.  But 
hardly  was  she  settled  here  in  Swit- 
zerland when  the  Franco-Prussian 
war  broke  out,  and  the  Red  Cross 
sought  her  aid,  knowing  how  valu- 
able her  long  experience  in  nursing 
would  be  to  them.  She  could  not  re- 
fuse their  appeals,  and  once  more 


58        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

started  in  the  wake  of  powder  smoke, 
and  cannon's  roar. 

"  But  Til  not  start  on  that  chapter 
of  her  life.  I  would  not  know  where 
to  stop.  It  was  there  I  met  her,  there 
she  nursed  me  back  to  life;  then  I 
learned  to  appreciate  her  devotion 
to  the  cause  of  humankind.  This 
second  long  siege  against  suffering 
made  her  an  invalid  for  many  years. 

"  The  other  nations  wondered  why 
America  refused  to  join  them  in  their 
humane  work.  All  other  civilized 
countries  were  willing  to  lend  a  hand. 
But  Clara  Barton  knew  that  it  was 
because  the  people  were  ignorant  of 
its  real  purpose  that  they  did  not 
join  the  alliance,  and  she  promised 
that  she  would  devote  the  remainder 
of  her  life,  if  need  be,  to  showing 
America  that  as  long  as  she  refused 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          59 

to  sign  that  treaty,  she  was  standing 
on  a  level  with  barbarous  and 
heathen  countries. 

"  For  years  she  was  too  ill  to  push 
the  work  she  had  set  for  herself. 
When  her  strength  at  last  returned, 
she  had  to  learn  to  walk.  At  last,  how- 
ever, she  succeeded.  America  signed 
the  treaty.  Then,  through  her  efforts, 
the  American  National  Red  Cross 
was  organized.  She  was  made  presi- 
dent of  it.  While  no  war,  until  lately, 
has  called  for  its  services,  the  Red 
Cross  has  found  plenty  to  do  in  times 
of  great  national  calamities.  You 
have  had  terrible  fires  and  floods, 
cyclones,  and  scourges  of  yellow 
fever.  Then  too,  it  has  taken  relief 
to  Turkey  and  lately  has  found  work 
in  Cuba. 

"  I  know  that  you  would  like  to 


60      .  The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

look  into  Miss  Barton's  jewel-box. 
Old  Emperor  William  himself  gave 
her  the  Iron  Cross  of  Prussia.  The 
Grand  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Baden 
sent  her  the  Gold  Cross  of  Remem- 
brance. Medals  and  decorations 
from  many  sovereigns  are  there  — 
the  Queen  of  Servia,  the  Sultan  of 
Turkey,  the  Prince  of  Armenia. 
Never  has  any  American  woman 
been  so  loved  and  honored  abroad, 
and  never  has  an  American  woman 
been  more  worthy  of  respect  at  home. 
It  must  be  a  great  joy  to  her  now,  as 
she  sits  in  the  evening  of  life,  to 
count  her  jewels  of  remembrance, 
and  feel  that  she  has  done  so  much 
to  win  the  gratitude  of  her  fellow 
creatures. 

"  You  came  to  visit  Switzerland  be- 
cause it  is  the  home  of  many  heroes; 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          61 

but  let  me  tell  you,  my  child,  this 
little  republic  has  more  to  show  -the 
world  than  its  William  Tell  chapels 
and  its  Lion  of  Lucerne.  As  long  as 
the  old  town  of  Geneva  stands,  the 
world  will  not  forget  that  here  was 
given  a  universal  banner  of  peace, 
and  here  was  signed  its  greatest 
treaty  —  the  treaty  of  the  Red 
Cross." 

As  the  Major  stopped,  the  Little 
Colonel  looked  up  at  the  white  cross 
floating  above  the  pier,  and  then 
down  at  the  red  one  on  Hero's  collar, 
and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  like 
that!"  she  exclaimed,  earnestly.  "I 
used  to  wish  that  I  could  go  out  like 
Joan  of  Arc  to  do  some  great  thing 
that  would  make  people  write  books 
about  me,  and  carve  me  on  statues, 


62         The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

and  paint  pictures  and  sing  songs  in 
my  honah,  but  I  believe  that  now 
I'd  rathah  do  something  bettah  than 
ride  off  to  battle  on  a  prancin'  white 
chargah.  Thank  you,  Majah,  for 
tellin'  me  the  story.  I'm  goin'  for  a 
walk  now.  May  I  take  Hero?" 

A  few  minutes  later  the  two  were 
wandering  along  beside  the  water  to- 
gether, the  Little  Colonel  dreaming 
day-dreams  of  valiant  deeds  that  she 
might  do  some  day,  so  that  kings 
would  send  her  a  Gold  Cross  of 
Remembrance,  and  men  would  say 
with  uncovered  heads,  as  the  old  Ma- 
jor had  done, "  If  America  ever  writes 
a  woman's  name  in  her  temple  of 
fame,  that  one  should  be  the  name 
of  Lloyd  Sherman  —  The  Little 
Colonel!" 


THE  TWO  WERE  WANDERING  ALONG  BESIDE  THE 
WATER   TOGETHER  " 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          63 

When  the  time  came  for  the  Sher- 
mans to  move  on,  the  Major  was 
their  travelling  companion.  But  at 
Zug,  several  weeks  later,  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  stop  and  send 
for  his  niece  to  accompany  him  to  a 
hospital  at  Zurich.  He  had  been 
caught  in  a  sudden  storm  on  the 
mountainside  and  struck  by  a  limb 
of  a  falling  tree.  If  Hero  had  not 
led  a  party  of  rescuers  to  him  from 
the  hotel  he  would  have  died  before 
morning,  but  they  were  in  time  to 
save  him. 

Several  lonely  days  followed  for 
the  Little  Colonel.  Either  her  father 
or  mother  was  constantly  with  the 
Major,  sometimes  both. 

It  greatly  worried  the  old  man 
that  he  should  be  the  cause  of  dis- 
arranging their  plans  and  delaying 


64        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

their  journey.  He  urged  them  to  go 
on  and  leave  him,  but  they  would 
not  consent.  Sometimes  the  Little 
Colonel  slipped  into  the  room  with  a 
bunch  of  Alpine  roses  or  a  cluster 
of  edelweiss  that  she  had  bought 
from  some  peasant.  Sometimes  she 
sat  beside  him  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
most  of  her  time  was  spent  with 
Hero,  wandering  up  and  down  be- 
side the  lake,  feeding  the  swans  or 
watching  the  little  steamboats  come 
and  go. 

One  evening,  just  at  sunset,  the 
Major  sent  for  her.  "  I  go  to  Zurich 
in  the  morning,"  he  said,  holding  out 
his  hand  as  she  came  into  the  room. 
"  I  wanted  to  say  good-bye  while  I 
have  the  time  and  strength.  We  ex- 
pect to  leave  very  early  to-morrow, 
probably  before  you  are  awake." 


The  Red  Cross  of  Geneva          65 

His  couch  was  drawn  up  by  the 
window  through  which  the  shimmer- 
ing lake  shone  in  the  sunset  like  rosy 
mother-of-pearl.  Far  up  the  moun- 
tain sounded  the  faint  tinkling  of 
goat-bells,  and  the  clear,  sweet  yodel- 
ling of  a  peasant,  on  his  homeward 
way.  At  intervals,  the  deep  tolling 
of  the  bell  of  St.  Oswald  floated  out 
across  the  water. 

"When  the  snow  falls,"  he  said, 
after  a  long  pause,  "I  shall  be  far 
away  from  here.  They  tell  me  that 
at  the  hospital  where  I  am  going, 
I  shall  find  a  cure.  But  I  know." 
He  pointed  to  an  hour-glass  on  the 
table  beside  him.  "  See!  the  sand 
has  nearly  run  its  course.  The 
hour  will  soon  be  done.  It  is  so 
with  me.  I  have  felt  it  for  a  long 
time." 


66        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

Lloyd  looked  up,  startled.  He 
went  on  slowly. 

"  I  cannot  take  Hero  with  me  to 
the  hospital,  so  I  shall  leave  him  be- 
hind with  some  one  who  will  care 
for  him  and  love  him,  perhaps  even 
better  than  I  have  done."  He  held 
out  his  hand  to  the  dog. 

"  Come,  Hero,  my  dear  old  com- 
rade, come  bid  thy  master  farewell." 
Fumbling  under  his  pillow  as  he 
spoke,  he  took  out  a  small  leather 
case,  and,  opening  it,  held  up  a 
medal.  It  was  the  medal  that  had 
been  given  him  for  bravery  on  the 
field  of  battle. 

"It  is  my  one  treasure!"  mur- 
mured the  old  soldier,  turning  it 
fondly,  as  it  lay  in  his  palm.  "  I  have 
no  family  to  whom  I  can  leave  it  as 
an  heirloom,  but  thou  hast  twice 


p 


HE  FASTENED  THE  MEDAL.  TO  HERO  S  COLLAR 


The  Bed  Cross  of  Geneva          67 

earned  the  right  to  wear  it.  I  have 
no  fear  but  that  thou  wilt  always  be 
true  to  the  Red  Cross  and  thy  name 
of  Hero,  so  thou  shalt  wear  thy  coun- 
try's medal  to  thy  grave." 

He  fastened  the  medal  to  Hero's 
collar,  then,  with  the  dog's  great 
head  pressed  fondly  against  him,  he 
began  talking  to  him  in  the  speech 
Lloyd  could  not  understand,  but  the 
sight  of  the  gray-haired  old  soldier 
taking  his  last  leave  of  his  faithful 
friend  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes. 

Then  he  called  her  to  him  and 
said  that  because  she  was  like  his 
little  Christine,  he  knew  that  she 
would  be  good  to  Hero,  and  he  asked 
her  to  take  him  back  to  America  with 
her.  She  promised  that  she  would. 
Then  he  put  Hero's  paw  in  her  hand, 
and  said,  "  Hero,  I  give  thee  to  thy 


68        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

little  mistress.  Protect  and  guard 
her  always,  as  she  will  love  and  care 
for  thee." 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 

"  that  long  journey  back  to  Ken- 
tucky  it  was  well  for  Hero  that 
he  wore  the  Red  Cross  on  his  collar. 
The  little  symbol  was  the  open  ses- 
ame to  many  a  privilege  that  ordi- 
nary dogs  are  not  allowed  on  ship- 
board. Instead  of  being  confined  to 
the  hold,  he  was  given  the  liberty  of 
the  ship,  and  when  his  story  was 
known  he  received  as  much  flatter- 
ing attention  as  if  he  had  been  some 
titled  nobleman. 

The  captain  shook  the  big  white 
paw,  gravely  put  into  his  hand  at  the 

69 


70        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

Little  Colonel's  bidding,  and  then 
stooped  to  stroke  the  dog's  head.  As 
he  looked  into  the  wistful,  intelligent 
eyes  his  own  grew  tender. 

"  I  have  a  son  in  the  service,"  he 
said,  "  sent  back  from  South  Africa, 
covered  with  scars.  I  know  what 
that  Red  Cross  meant  to  him  for  a 
good  many  long  weeks.  Go  where 
you  like,  old  fellow!  The  ship  is 
yours,  so  long  as  you  make  no 
trouble/' 

"  Oh,  thank  you!"  cried  the  Little 
Colonel,  looking  up  at  the  big  British 
captain  with  a  beaming  face.  "  I'd 
rathah  be  tied  up  myself  than  to  have 
Hero  kept  down  there  in  the  hold. 
I'm  suah  he'll  not  bothah  anybody." 

Nor  did  he.  No  one  from  stoker 
to  deck  steward  could  make  the 
slightest  complaint  against  him,  so 


Homeward  Bound  71 

dignified  and  well  behaved  was  he. 
Lloyd  was  proud  of  him  and  his  de- 
votion. Wherever  she  went  he  fol- 
lowed her,  lying  at  her  feet  when 
she  sat  in  her  steamer-chair,  walking 
close  beside  her  when  she  prome- 
naded the  deck. 

Everybody  stopped  to  speak  to 
him,  and  to  question  Lloyd  about 
him,  so  that  it  was  not  many  days 
before  she  and  the  great  St.  Ber- 
nard had  made  friends  of  all  the 
passengers  who  were  able  to  be  on 
deck. 

The  hours  are  long  at  sea,  and 
people  gladly  welcome  anything  that 
provides  entertainment,  so  Lloyd  was 
often  called  aside  as  she  walked,  and 
invited  to  join  some  group,  and  tell 
to  a  knot  of  interested  listeners  all 
she  knew  of  Hero  and  the  Major, 


72        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

and  the  training  of  the  ambulance 
dogs. 

In  return  Lloyd's  stories  nearly 
always  called  forth  some  anecdote 
from  her  listeners  about  the  Red 
Cross  work  in  America,  and  to  her 
great  surprise  she  found  five  persons 
among  them  who  had  met  Clara 
Barton  in  some  great  national  calam- 
ity of  fire,  flood,  or  pestilence. 

One  was  a  portly  man  with  a  gruff 
voice,  who  had  passed  through  the 
experiences  of  the  forest  fires  that 
swept  through  Michigan,  over 
twenty  years  ago.  As  he  told  his 
story,  he  made  the  scenes  so  real 
that  Lloyd  forgot  where  she  was. 
She  could  almost  smell  the  thick, 
stifling  smoke  of  the  burning  forest, 
hear  the  terrible  crackling  of  the 
flames,  feel  the  scorching  heat  in 


Homeward  Bound  73 

her  face,  and  see  the  frightened 
cattle  driven  into  the  lakes  and 
streams  by  the  pursuing  fire. 

She  listened  with  startled  eyes  as 
he  described  the  wall  of  flame,  hem- 
ming in  the  peaceful  home  where  his 
little  son  played  around  the  door- 
step. She  held  her  breath  while  he 
told  of  their  mad  flight  from  it,  when, 
lashing  his  horses  into  a  gallop,  he 
looked  back  to  see  it  licking  up  every- 
thing in  the  world  he  held  dear  ex- 
cept the  frightened  little  family 
huddled  at  his  feet.  He  had  worked 
hard  to  build  the  cottage.  It  was 
furnished  with  family  heirlooms 
brought  West  with  them  from  the 
old  homestead  in  Vermont.  It  was 
hard  to  see  those  great  red  tongues 
devouring  it  in  a  mouthful. 

In  the  morning,  although  they  had 


74        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

reached  a  place  of  safety,  they  were 
out  in  a  charred,  blackened  wilder- 
ness, without  a  roof  to  shelter  them, 
a  chair  to  sit  on,  or  a  crust  to  eat. 
"  The  hardest  thing  to  bear,"  he  said, 
"was  to  hear  my  little  three-year- 
old  Bertie  begging  for  his  breakfast, 
and  to  know  that  there  was  nothing 
within  miles  of  us  to  satisfy  his  hun- 
ger, and  that  the  next  day  it  would 
be  the  same,  and  the  next,  and  the 
next. 

"  We  were  powerless  to  help  our- 
selves. But  while  we  sat  there  in 
utter  despair,  a  neighbor  rode  by 
and  hailed  us.  He  told  us  that  Red 
Cross  committees  had  started  out 
from  Milwaukee  and  Chicago  at  first 
tidings  of  the  fire,  with  car-loads  of 
supplies,  and  that  if  we  could  go  to 
the  place  where  they  were  distribut- 


Homeward  Bound  75 

ing  we  could  get  whatever  we 
needed. 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  what 
they  were  handing  out  when  we  got 
there:  tools  and  lumber  to  put  up 
cabins,  food  and  beds  and  clothes  and 
coal-oil.  They'd  thought  of  every- 
thing and  provided  everything,  and 
they  went  about  the  distributing  in 
a  systematic,  business-like  way  that 
somehow  put  heart  and  cheer  into 
us  all. 

"  They  didn't  make  us  feel  as  if 
they  were  handing  out  alms  to  pau- 
pers, but  as  if  they  were  helping 
some  of  their  own  family  on  to  their 
feet  again,  and  putting  them  in 
shape  to  help  themselves.  Even  my 
little  Bertie  felt  it.  Young  as  he 
was,  he  never  forgot  that  awful 
night  when  we  fled  from  the  fire,  nor 


76        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

the  hungry  day  that  followed,  nor  the 
fact  that  the  arm  that  carried  him 
food,  when  he  got  it  at  last,  wore  a 
brassard  marked  like  that."  He 
touched  the  Red  Cross  on  Hero's 
collar. 

"  And  when  the  chance  came  to 
show  the  same  brotherly  spirit  to 
some  one  else  in  trouble  and  pass  the 
help  along,  he  was  as  ready  as  the 
rest  of  us  to  do  his  share. 

"  Three  years  afterward  I  read  in 
the  papers  of  the  floods  that  had 
swept  through  the  Ohio  and  Missis- 
sippi valleys,  and  of  the  thousands 
that  were  homeless.  Bertie,  —  he 
was  six  then,  —  he  listened  to  the 
account  of  the  children  walking  the 
streets,  crying  because  they  hadn't  a 
roof  over  them  or  anything  to  eat. 
He  didn't  say  a  word,  but  he  climbed 


Homeward  Bound  77 

up  to  the  mantel  and  took  down  his 
little  red  savings-bank. 

"  We  were  pretty  near  on  our  feet 
again  by  that  time,  although  we  were 
still  living  in  a  cabin.  The  crops  had 
been  good,  and  we  had  been  able  to 
save  a  little.  He  poured  out  all  the 
pennies  and  nickels  in  his  bank,  — 
ninety-three  cents  they  came  to,  — 
and  then  he  got  his  only  store  toy,  a 
box  of  tin  soldiers  that  had  been  sent 
to  him  Christmas,  and  put  that  on 
the  table  beside  the  money.  We 
didn't  appear  to  notice  what  he  was 
doing.  Presently  he  brought  the 
mittens  his  grandmother  up  in  Ver- 
mont had  knit  for  him.  Then  he 
waited  a  bit,  and  seemed  to  be 
weighing  something  in  his  mind. 
By  and  by  he  slipped  away  to  the 
chest  where  his  Sunday  clothes  were 


78        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

kept  and  took  them  out,  new  suit, 
shoes,  cap  and  all,  and  laid  them  on 
the  table  with  the  money  and  the 
tin  soldiers. 

"  '  There,  daddy/  he  said,  '  tell  the 
Red  Cross  people  to  send  them  to 
some  little  boy  like  me,  that's  been 
washed  out  of  his  home  and  hasn't 
any  of  his  toys  left,  or  his  clothes/ 

"  I  tell  you  it  made  a  lump  come  up 
in  my  throat  to  see  that  the  little  fel- 
low had  taken  his  very  best  to  pay 
his  debt  of  gratitude.  Nothing  was 
too  great  for  him  to  sacrifice.  Even 
his  tin  soldiers  went  when  he  remem- 
bered what  the  Red  Cross  had  done 
for  him." 

"  My  experience  with  the  Red 
Cross  was  in  the  Mississippi  floods 
of  '82,"  said  a  gentleman  who  had 
joined  the  party.  "  One  winter  day 


Homeward  Bound  79 

we  were  attracted  by  screams  out  in 
the  river,  and  found  that  they  came 
from  some  people  who  were  floating 
down  on  a  house  that  had  been  washed 
away.  There  they  were,  that  freez- 
ing weather,  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
river,  their  clothes  frozen  on  them, 
ill  from  fright  and  exposure.  I  went 
out  in  one  of  the  boats  that  were  sent 
to  their  rescue,  and  helped  bring 
them  to  shore.  I  was  so  impressed  by 
the  tales  of  suffering  they  told  that 
I  went  up  the  river  to  investigate. 
"  At  every  town,  and  nearly  every 
steamboat  landing,  I  found  men 
from  the  relief  committees  already 
at  work,  distributing  supplies.  They 
didn't  stop  when  they  had  provided 
food  and  clothing.  They  furnished 
seed  by  the  car-load  to  the  farmers, 
just  as  in  the  Galveston  disaster,  a 


80        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

few  years  ago,  they  furnished  thou- 
sands of  strawberry  plants  to  the 
people  who  were  wholly  dependent 
on  their  crops  for  their  next  year's 
food." 

"Where  did  they  get  all  those 
stores?"  asked  Lloyd.  "And  the 
seeds  and  the  strawberry  plants?" 

"Most  of  it  was  donated,"  an- 
swered the  gentleman.  "  Many  con- 
tributions come  pouring  in  after  such 
a  disaster,  just  as  little  Bertie's  did. 
But  the  society  is  busy  all  the  time, 
collecting  and  storing  away  the 
things  that  may  be  needed  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice.  People  would  contrib- 
ute, of  course,  even  if  there  were 
no  society  to  take  charge  of  their 
donations,  but  without  its  wise  hands 
to  distribute,  much  would  be  lost." 

It  was  from  a  sad-faced  lady  in 


Homeward  Bound  81 

black,  who  had  had  two  sons  drowned 
in  the  Johnstown  flood,  that  Lloyd 
heard  the  description  of  Clara  Bar- 
ton's five  months'  labor  there.  A 
doctor's  wife  who  had  been  in  the 
Mt.  Vernon  cyclone,  and  a  newspaper 
man  who  had  visited  the  South  Caro- 
lina islands  after  the  tidal  wave,  and 
Charleston  after  the  earthquake, 
piled  up  their  acounts  of  those  scenes 
of  suffering,  some  of  them  even 
greater  than  the  horrors  of  war,  so 
that  Lloyd  dreamed  of  fires  and 
floods  that  night.  But  the  horror  of 
the  scenes  was  less,  because  a  baby 
voice  called  cheerfully  through  them, 
"  Here,  daddy,  give  these  to  the  poor 
little  boys  that  are  cold  and  home- 
sick; "  and  a  great  St.  Bernard,  with 
a  Red  Cross  on  his  back,  ran  around 
distributing  mittens  and  tin  soldiers. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  AFTER  YEARS 

HpIME  flies  fast  under  the  Locusts. 
The  sixteen  years  which  have 
passed  since  Hero  followed  his  little 
mistress  home  have  brought  many 
changes.  He  is  only  a  tender  mem- 
ory now.  A  square,  white  stone 
stands  on  the  lawn  where  "  taps  " 
were  sounded  over  him  one  Septem- 
ber day,  long  ago.  But  the  sight  of 
it  no  longer  brings  pain  to  the  Little 
Colonel.  With  the  sweet  ambition 
in  her  heart  to  make  life  happier  for 
every  one  she  touches,  she  has  grown 
up  into  a  veritable  Princess  Winsome. 
In  a  home  of  her  own  now,  to  her 

82 


In  After  Years  83 

own  little  son,  she  sometimes  tells 
the  story  that  is  set  down  here.  He 
is  too  young  yet,  to  be  told  the  chap- 
ters which  have  been  added  since  to 
that  amazing  history  of  sacrifice 
and  service.  And  she  cannot  say 
now  as  the  old  Major  said  then  — 
"Wherever  the  Red  Cross  goes  is 
safety  for  the  wounded  soldiers. 
No  nurse,  surgeon  or  ambulance 
bearing  that  sign  can  be  fired  upon." 
That  part  is  no  longer  true,  although 
the  day  is  coming  soon  when  we 
shall  make  it  true  for  all  time. 

She  cannot  tell  him  that  the  very 
nation  which  was  first  and  foremost 
in  training  such  dogs  as  Hero  in 
service  for  mankind  has  violated  its 
treaties  and  filled  the  world  with 
horrors  and  suffering  unspeakable. 
His  trusting  baby  heart  could  not 


84        The  Story  of  the  Red  Cross 

understand  such  treachery.  But 
young  as  he  is  he  knows  what  that 
red  and  white  symbol  means. 

Because  "  daddy  "  wore  one  on  his 
arm  when  he  marched  away  with  the 
other  soldiers,  he  must  have  one  on 
the  sleeve  of  his  little  blue  rompers. 
Because  "  deah  muwa "  wears  one 
on  the  veil  which  binds  her  forehead, 
when  she  comes  back  from  the  unit 
where  she  has  spent  long  hours  away 
from  him,  he  associates  it  with  all 
that  is  loveliest  to  him  —  her  lovely 
face,  her  arms  that  are  his  peace  and 
comfort  and  safety,  her  lips  that 
kiss  away  all  his  hurts  and  make 
them  well. 

Long  before  he  is  old  enough  to 
hear  the  terrible  war-part  of  the 
story,  War  shall  be  at  an  end,  please 
God,  and  the  Red  Cross  shall  mean 


In  After  Years  85 

to  the  nations  left  upon  the  earth 
what  it  means  to  him  —  arms  that 
enfold  a  suffering  humanity,  lips 
that  press  a  great  mother-love  to  all 
its  hurts  and  make  them  well. 


THE  END. 


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ALMA'S  SENIOR  YEAR 

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LIST  OF  TITLES 
QUEEN  HILDEGARDE 
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RITA 

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MELODY:     THE  STORT  OF  A  CHILD. 

MARIE 

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SNOW-WHITE;    OR,  THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOOD. 

JIM     OF    HELLAS;   OR,  IN  DURANCE   VILE,   and   a 
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NARCISSA 

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"SOME   SAY" 

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NAUTILUS 

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POLLYANNA    ANNUAL   NO.    i 

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THE  BOYS'  STORY  OF  THE 
RAILROAD  SERIES 

By  BURTON  E.  STEVENSON 

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THE    YOUNG   SECTION-HAND;    OR,   THE   AD- 

VENTURES   OF    ALLAN    WEST. 

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the  story."  —  Chicago  Post. 

THE    YOUNG   TRAIN    DISPATCHER 

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ous nature  of  railroad  life."  —  Congregationalist. 

THE  YOUNG  TRAIN  MASTER 

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yarn."  —  Passaic  News. 
THE    YOUNG    APPRENTICE;  OR,  ALLAH  WEST'S 

CHUM. 

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STORIES  BY 
BREWER  CORCORAN 

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THE   BOY   SCOUTS    OF   KENDALLVILLE 

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A  merica." 

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not enlist  because  he  has  three  dependents,  but  his 
knowledge  of  woodcraft  and  wig-wagging  gained  through 
Scout  practice  enables  him  to  foil  a  German  plot  to  blow 
up  the  munitions  factory. 

THE    BARBARIAN;  OR,  WILL  BRADFORD'S  SCHOOL 

DAYS  AT  ST.  Jo's. 

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sport,  winding  up  with  a  perfectly  corking  double  play." 
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A— 8 


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BIG  BROTHER 

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IN  THE  DESERT  OF  WAITING:  THE  LEGEND 
OP  CAMELBACK  MOUNTAIN. 

THE  THREE  WEAVERS:  A  FAIKT  TALE  FOB 
FATHERS  AND  MOTHERS  AS  WELL  AS  FOR  THEIR 
DAUGHTERS. 

KEEPING  TRYST:  A  TALE  OF  KING  ARTHUR'S 
TIME. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  BLEEDING  HEART 

THE    RESCUE    OF    PRINCESS  WINSOME: 

A  FAIRY  PLAT  FOR  OLD  AND  YOUNQ. 

THE  JESTER'S  SWORD 


THE    LITTLE    COLONEL'S    GOOD    TIMES 
BOOK 

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TRAVELERS  FIVE:    ALONG  LIFE'S  HIGH- 
WAY 

By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON. 

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JOEL:  A  BOY  OF  GALILEE 
By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON. 

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THE  BOYS'  STORY  OF  THE  ARMY 
SERIES 

By  FLORENCE  KIMBALL  RTTSSEL 

BORN   TO  THE   BLUE 

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FROM  CHEVRONS  TO  SHOULDER- 
STRAPS 

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DOCTOR'S  LITTLE  GIRL  SERIES 

By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART 
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THE   DOCTOR'S  LITTLE   GIRL 

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SWEET    NANCY:     THE   FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF 

THE  DOCTOR'S  LITTLE  GIRL. 

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NANCY,  THE  DOCTOR'S  LITTLE  PARTNER 

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NANCY  AND  THE  COGGS  TWINS 

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A— 13 


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This  story  happened  many  hundreds  of  years  ago  in 
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girl  named  Karen,  who  worked  at  lace-making  with  her 
aged  grandmother. 

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A  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  PROVENCE 

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H.Marlowe $1.25 

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appeal."  —  Public  Ledger. 

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country  where  its  scenes  are  laid  and  of  the  people  thereof." 

—  Wilmington  Every  Evening. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   THE   HILL 

By  MARGARET  R.  PIPER,  author  of  "Sylvia  Arden," 
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12mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
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Boston, 

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THE    BOYS    OF    '6 1;  OH,  FOUR  YEARS  OF  FIGHTING. 
By  CHARLES  CARLETON  COFFIN. 

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trations     ........     $2.00 

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illustrations $1.35 

A  record  of  personal  observation  with  the  Army  and 
Navy,  from  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run  to  the  fall  of  Rich- 
mond. 

THE    BOYS    OF     l8l2;  AND  OTHER  NAVAL  HEROES. 
By  JAMES  RUSSELL  SOLEY. 

Cloth,  8vo,  illustrated  $2.00 

"  The  book  is  full  of  stirring  incidents  and  adven- 
tures." —  Boston  Herald. 

THE   SAILOR   BOYS   OF   '61 

By  JAMES  RUSSELL  SOLEY. 

Cloth,  8vo,  illustrated  $2.00 

"  It  is  written  with  an  enthusiasm  that  never  allows 
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BOYS  OF  FORT  SCHUYLER 

By  JAMES  OTIS. 

Cloth  decorative,  square  12mo,  illustrated         .     $1.25 
"  It  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  best  historical  Indian 
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FAMOUS  WAR  STORIES 

By  CHARLES  CARLETON  COFFIN 
Each  cloth  decorative,  12mo,  illustrated,  per  vol.,  $1.25 

WINNING  HIS  WAY 

A  story  of  a  young  soldier  in  the  Civil  War. 

MY   DAYS  AND   NIGHTS  ON  THE  BAT- 
TLEFIELD 

A  story  of  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run  and  other  battles  in 
Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  on  the  Mississippi. 

FOLLOWING  THE  FLAG 

A  story  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  in  the  Civil  War. 
A— 14 


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THE  SANDMAN  SERIES 

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per  volume        .......     $1.50 

By  WILLIAM  J.  HOPKINS 

THE    SANDMAN:  His  FARM  STORIES. 

"  Mothers  and  fathers  and  kind  elder  sisters  who  take 
the  little  ones  to  bed  and  rack  their  brains  for  stories 
will  find  this  book  a  treasure."  —  Cleveland  Leader. 

THE    SANDMAN:  MORE  FARM  STORIES. 

"  Children  will  call  for  these  stories  over  and  over 
again."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

THE     SANDMAN:  His  SHIP  STORIES. 

"  Little  ones  will  understand  and  delight  in  the  stories 
and  their  parents  will  read  between  the  lines  and  recog- 
nize the  poetic  and  artistic  work  of  the  author."  — 
Indianapolis  News. 

THE    SANDMAN:  His  SEA  STORIES. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  man  who  knew  little 
children  and  the  kind  of  stories  they  liked,  so  he  wrote 
four  books  of  Sandman's  stories,  all  about  the  farm  or 
the  sea,  and  the  brig  Industry,  and  this  book  is  one  of 
them."  —  Canadian  Congregationalist. 

By  JENNY  WALLIS 

THE    SANDMAN :  His  SONGS  AND  RHYMES. 

"  Here  is  a  fine  collection  of  poems  for  mothers  and 
friends  to  use  at  the  twilight  hour.  They  are  not  of  the 
soporific  kind  especially.  They  are  wholesome  reading 
when  most  wide-awake  and  of  such  a  soothing  and  deli- 
cious flavor  that  they  are  welcome  when  the  lights  are 
low."  —  Christian  Intelligence. 
A— 15 


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THE  SANDMAN  SERIES 

(CONTINUED) 
By  HARRY  W.  FREES 
THE    SANDMAN:  His  ANIMAL  STORIES. 

"  They  are  written  in  a  style  that  will  appeal  most 
strongly  to  children,  and  the  promise  of  a  Sandman 
story  before  retiring  will  be  found  an  adequate  relief  to 
many  a  tired  mother.  The  simplicity  of  the  stories  and 
the  fascinating  manner  in  which  they  are  written  make 
them  an  excellent  night  cap  for  the  youngster  who  is 
easily  excited  into  wakefulness."  —  Pittsburgh  Leader. 
THE  SANDMAN:  His  KITTYCAT  STORIES. 

"  The  Sandman  is  a  wonderful  fellow.  First  he  told 
farm  stories,  then  ship  stories,  then  sea  stories.  And 
now  he  tells  stories  about  the  kittens  and  the  fun  they 
had  in  Kittycat  Town.  A  strange  thing  about  these 
kittens  is  the  ability  to  talk,  work  and  play  like  boys  and 
girls,  and  that  is  why  all  of  the  little  tots  will  like  the 
Sandman's  book,  which  has  thirty-two  illustrations  re- 
produced from  photographs  taken  by  the  author."  — 
Pittsburgh  Chronicle  Telegraph, 
THE  SANDMAN :  His  BUNNY  STORIES. 

"  The  whole  book  is  filled  with  one  tale  after  another 
and  is  narrated  in  such  a  pleasing  manner  as  to  reach 
the  heart  of  every  child."  —  Common  Sense,  Chicago. 

By  W.  S.  PHILLIPS 

(EL   COMANCHO) 

THE    SANDMAN:  His  INDIAN  STORIES. 

No  Sandman  is  properly  equipped  without  a  fund  of 
Indian  tales,  for  the  lure  of  the  feathered  head-dress, 
the  tomahawk  and  the  wampum  belt  is  irresistible  to 
the  small  boy.  The  Indian  tales  for  this  Celebrated 
Series  of  Children's  Bedtime  Stories  have  been  written 
by  a  man  who  has  Indian  blood,  who  spent  years  of  his 
life  among  the  Redmen  in  one  of  the  tribes  of  which 
he  is  an  honored  member  and  who  is  an  expert  inter- 
preter of  the  Indian  viewpoint  and  a  practised  authority 
on  all  Indiana  as  well  as  a  master  teller  of  tales. 
A— 16 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBR 

°°°  057  987 


^ 


